by Diane Gaston
She sat on the sofa next to her sister, which placed her next to Ross’s chair. She glanced at him as she sat and her smile softened again.
‘I hope you have not been extravagant, girl,’ Tinmore said. ‘I do not provide you an allowance for frivolities.’
How ungentlemanly of Tinmore to make it a point that her allowance came from him.
She lowered her voice. ‘I assure you. I was not extravagant.’
The footman handed her a glass of wassail and she took a sip.
Dell asked a question about the next session of Parliament and Ross was grateful to him for deflecting Tinmore’s attention from Genna.
Not wanting to spend the holiday discussing politics, Ross turned to the ladies. ‘The room smells and looks like Christmas.’
‘It was Lorene’s doing,’ Genna said. ‘I think it turned out lovely.’
‘Lovely, indeed.’
Lady Tinmore’s cheeks turned pink at the compliment. ‘Genna helped.’
Genna grimaced. ‘She means I supervised the gathering of the greens. The decoration was completely up to Lorene.’
‘You did well, ma’am,’ he said.
Genna gazed around the room and looked as if she was trying to stifle a laugh. ‘It is a bit incongruous, though, do you not think? All these Roman gods amidst greenery meant to celebrate the Christian holiday.’
‘The gods appear to be joining in the revelry,’ he responded.
It was amusing that this room in particular was used to entertain guests on this special day, especially because this house must have several other drawing rooms that would be suitable. Was this chosen as the most impressive?
Lady Tinmore’s brows knitted and Ross suspected she did not see the humour so evident to her sister.
Lady Tinmore changed the subject. ‘We will eat dinner early. In a few minutes, perhaps. I hope that will be to your liking?’
Ross took a sip of his wassail. ‘I am usually ready to eat at any moment of the day, so whatever you have planned will suit me very well.’ He glanced at Genna. ‘Perhaps after dinner there will be time for you to give me a tour of this house.’
She smiled. ‘I would be pleased to do so.’
* * *
They’d had time enough to finish the wassail when Dixon announced dinner.
Mr Filkins, Tinmore’s secretary, had not been included in the meal. Genna supposed the poor man was eating in his room alone on this day, which did not seem at all right to her.
The conversation was not as lively or amusing as it had been when she and Lorene had shared a meal with Rossdale and Penford at Summerfield House. It was dominated by Lord Tinmore and, as such, did not include Genna. She was seated across from Rossdale, but unable to speak with him. If only he’d been seated at her side they might have been able to have a little private conversation.
‘Your father is Whig, is he not, Rossdale?’ Tinmore asked.
‘Very,’ Rossdale responded.
‘And yourself?’ Tinmore went on.
‘Me?’ Rossdale responded. ‘I am not in politics.’
‘But you must have a party, a set of beliefs?’ Tinmore took a bite of roast goose.
‘Must I?’ he answered. ‘I can see no reason at the moment. When my father dies, I will choose, but I am in no hurry to do so.’
‘Odd thing, not declaring your party.’ Tinmore turned to Penford. ‘And you, sir? Do not say you are Whig.’
The Whigs advocated reform, to give more power to the people and Parliament and less to the monarchy.
Penford nodded. ‘I must say so, at least in desiring to ease the suffering of our people. There is more suffering to come, I fear, now that the war is over.’
‘Now that the war is over, we must protect our property and the prices of our crops. That is what the Corn Laws are all about.’ Tinmore landed a fist on the table for emphasis.
The Corn Laws fixed the prices of grain and imposed tariffs to prevent imported grain from undercutting those prices.
‘I do understand, sir,’ Penford replied. ‘But I fear the high prices will cause many to go hungry.’
Tinmore turned to Rossdale. ‘I suppose you were against the Corn Laws. Your father certainly held out until the last, but we won him to our side.’
‘I did not have to make the choice,’ Rossdale said. ‘But it would be hard to vote for a hardship for so many.’
Tinmore jabbed a finger in Rossdale’s direction. ‘If our farms fail, we all go hungry.’
Had Rossdale’s father voted against his beliefs? ‘It must be very difficult to choose,’ Genna said. ‘Especially when one does not know what the future will bring.’
‘Humph!’ Tinmore said. ‘What do you know of such things?’
She had forgotten for a moment. Tinmore did not expect her to have opinions.
Rossdale spoke up. ‘I quite agree with Miss Summerfield. Those in Parliament must live with many difficult decisions. It can be a great burden.’
Rossdale stood up for her? When was the last time anyone had done that for her?
Tinmore straightened in his chair. ‘It is a great privilege! And one’s duty!’
‘I agree it is both of those things, as well,’ Rossdale responded.
Tinmore seemed unexpectedly at a loss for words.
Ross rescued him, as well. ‘Sir, I must tell you I am intrigued by this house. I have heard there is much to admire here.’
Tinmore swelled with pride. ‘The first Earl of Tinmore was in the service of Queen Elizabeth. In her honour, the house was designed like the letter E, which might not be apparent to you. One can see it is shaped like an E if one climbs to the roof, though.’
‘I should like to see that,’ Rossdale said.
‘I’ll have Dixon take you around after dinner.’
‘We do not need to trouble your butler. Miss Summerfield gave me a tour of Summerfield House. I am certain she will do a fine job of showing me Tinmore Hall.’
Genna felt herself go all warm. First he stood up for her; now he complimented her.
Tinmore waved his fork. ‘Dixon will do it. The girl knows nothing of this house.’
Genna tensed, but tried to keep her voice composed. ‘Then I should like to go along, if I may. To learn what Dixon can teach me.’
‘Suit yourself,’ Tinmore said, swallowing another bite of goose and smiling ingratiatingly towards Rossdale. ‘I’ll have Dixon take you around after tea.’ He signalled to the butler who then had the footmen remove the main course. ‘Time for the pudding,’ Tinmore said.
CHAPTER SEVEN
After the pudding, Genna and Lorene left the gentlemen to their brandy and retired to the drawing room again.
‘Do be careful, Genna,’ Lorene warned as they walked to the Mount Olympus room. ‘You know how he is. And I do not believe he is as recovered as he makes us believe. His temper is easily piqued, I fear.’
How did Lorene know? Had he lost his temper with her? ‘I am being careful. I forgot myself for one moment, that is all.’
‘Being late did not help matters either,’ Lorene added.
‘Yes, I realise it.’ Genna doubted Tinmore cared whether she’d been present or not. ‘I do wonder, though, why he is not throwing me at these two eligible gentlemen. He is so eager for me to make a match and here they both are.’
She meant it as a joke, but Lorene answered her in all seriousness. ‘He thinks they are too high for you, Genna. Marrying you would not give either of them any advantage.’
Lorene’s words stung. ‘I was not being serious. Do you not think I know they are too high for me?’
They entered the room and sat on the sofa where they had been before dinner. Genna’s back was stiff and with effort she kept her hands still in her lap. She could not thi
nk of a word she wished to say to her sister, at the moment.
Or rather, she could not think of a civil word she wished to say.
Once upon a time she would have shared with her sister that she had no plans to marry, that she intended to make her own way in the world unshackled by any man. But Lorene’s decision to marry Tinmore had altered matters. Lorene and she did not look upon the world with the same eyes.
‘What are these gifts you are giving?’ Lorene asked, breaking the silence.
‘They are gifts,’ Genna said. ‘You discover the gift when you open it, not before.’
Lorene’s brow furrowed. ‘You have gifts for Lord Rossdale and Lord Penford?’
‘For our guests, you mean? Yes, that was rather the point of it all.’ Although she would have given Lorene her gift before the day was over, even if there had been no guests.
Lorene bit her lip. ‘I do hope Lord Tinmore finds them appropriate.’
What were the chances of that? ‘Do not worry, Lorene. They are mere trifles.’
The footman brought in tea and they lapsed into silence again. Genna occupied herself by staring at the paintings that covered the walls of the room, studying Verrio’s use of colour, of movement and illusion. Whatever room she had found herself in these last few days she’d examined the paintings. How had she not allowed herself to see them before?
* * *
Ross felt as if he was sitting at his father’s table with all Tinmore’s talk of the politics of the day. Ross was not oblivious to the issues facing the country now that the war was over and he was not indifferent, but while his father was still alive he had no role to play in deciding such matters as what should be taxed, what prices should be fixed and what tariffs imposed. He also did not have to consider the consequences of whether he voted aye or nay. His day would come for all this, but now it was in the hands of others.
Tinmore slapped the table with the palm of his hand. ‘The power must remain with the King and the aristocracy! We shall never go the way of France!’
His words became lost in a paroxysm of coughing. His butler quickly poured more brandy for him.
He downed the drink in one gulp. ‘Shall we join the ladies?’ His voice still choked.
‘Excellent idea.’ Ross tried not to sound too eager—or sarcastic.
Tinmore leaned heavily on his cane as he led them back to the drawing room. His butler followed rather solicitously.
The ladies looked up at their entrance.
‘Would you like tea, gentlemen?’ Lady Tinmore asked as they approached.
Lawd, no, thought Ross. More tea, more conversation.
‘They don’t want tea,’ Lord Tinmore snapped. He signalled to the butler. ‘Bring more brandy.’
The butler bowed and left the room.
In Ross’s mind, the Earl had imbibed quite enough brandy already. He glanced at Lady Tinmore, who looked both chastened and concerned. Genna merely looked furious. Even Dell looked displeased.
Such a disagreeable man, especially to his wife and her sister.
The brandy was brought quickly and poured by the butler.
Ross detested the pall brought on by Tinmore’s ill humour. He’d be damned if he let the evening go on like this. ‘Shall we open the presents?’ Tinmore would not dare contradict him.
Few men contradicted the son of a duke.
‘If you desire it,’ Tinmore agreed, sipping his brandy.
Genna turned to Ross. ‘Do you mind if we open my gifts first? They really are mere trinkets.’
Ross smiled at her. ‘If it pleases you, Miss Summerfield.’
She jumped out of her seat. ‘It does, indeed!’ She rushed over to the table where she’d placed her packages and brought them over. Handing them out, one to her sister, one to Dell, one to Ross. Even one to Tinmore, who, after all, provided her with lovely clothes, a roof over her head and an allowance.
‘Please, do open them.’ Her eyes sparkled in anticipation.
Dell was the first to open his. ‘It is Summerfield House!’
The gift was a small framed watercolour of Summerfield House, obviously painted by Genna. It was not the one with the wild colours that she’d made the day he’d met her, though. This one showed snow on the ground and candlelight shining from the windows.
‘It shows the night of your dinner party,’ Genna said.
‘So it does.’ Dell looked up at her.
‘I painted it for you,’ she said.
He gazed at it appreciatively. ‘It is a fine remembrance of that evening.’
Genna beamed with pleasure.
Ross opened his next. Another watercolour of a similar size, this one of a man on a galloping horse, his greatcoat billowing behind him. It was meant to be him, he realised, riding Spirit. He caught her eye to show he knew.
‘I surmised that any gentleman would like a picture of a horse,’ Genna explained.
So it was to be just between them that she’d drawn him?
He grinned. ‘I like it very much.’
She smiled back, her face radiant.
Lord Tinmore tore open his gift next. His was smaller. He looked at it without comment.
‘It is a miniature of Lorene,’ Genna said.
She’d made a very small ink-and-watercolour painting of her sister and placed it in a frame small enough to be carried in the pocket of a coat.
Tinmore turned to his wife. ‘It does you no justice, my dear. Amateur work.’ He tossed it aside and it fell on the carpet by Dell’s feet. ‘When we go to London I will commission a proper portrait of you from the finest miniature artist in town. Perhaps Cosway or Engleheart are still painting. If not, someone quite as renowned.’
Genna’s cheeks turned red, as if she’d been slapped in the face. She might as well have been.
Ross was too outraged to speak. How unspeakably rude and cruel to both women.
Dell picked up the small painting and looked at it. ‘I disagree, Tinmore.’ He turned to Genna. ‘Well done, Miss Summerfield. This is a charming likeness of your sister.’ He placed it carefully on the table, catching Lady Tinmore’s eye as he did so.
She immediately glanced away. ‘Let—let me open mine,’ she said, her voice shaking and her fingers tremulous. ‘Oh, Genna!’ Lady Tinmore turned her small painting around for the others to see.
It showed four children, a boy and three little girls, playing at a folly, the folly where Ross and Genna had taken refuge from the weather.
‘It is us,’ whispered Genna.
Her sister looked up at her with glistening eyes. ‘Look how happy we were.’
Tinmore tapped his cane on the carpet. ‘We should allow our guests to present their gifts, since they have gone to the trouble.’ He glanced at the butler who gestured to a footman to bring the gifts to them.
‘I fear our gifts will pale in comparison to such thoughtfulness on Miss Summerfield’s part,’ Ross said. ‘As you shall see.’
Ross took the gifts from the footman and handed one to each of them. Even in the wrapping, it was pretty obvious what he and Dell had brought for Lord Tinmore.
The man opened it eagerly. ‘Cognac. Remy Martin 1780!’
‘From my father’s cellar,’ Ross said.
Tinmore gushed. ‘This is a fine gift indeed. A very fine gift. Even finer that it came from the Duke’s cellar.’
‘Open yours, Lady Tinmore,’ Dell said.
It was a large and heavy box that she balanced on her knees. When she opened the box, she gasped, ‘The music!’
Dell spoke, ‘I am merely returning what is yours.’
She lifted each sheet of music as if it were as precious as jewels. ‘I did not think to bring the music with me when we left Summerfield House. You have restored it to me.’
; ‘Look,’ Genna said, ‘some are the pieces from which we first learned to play.’
‘Lovely memories,’ Lorene murmured.
Genna looked up. ‘It is my turn, I suppose.’ She untied the string and opened her box. ‘My sketchbook!’
‘Again, we merely return what is yours,’ Dell said.
Ross had talked Dell into bringing Genna’s sketchbook and presenting it as a gift. He had, after all, promised to return it to her. It was Dell who thought of the piano music, though.
Genna opened the book and glanced at some of the pages before closing it again and clasping it to her breast. ‘I am so happy to have it. I thought it lost for ever.’ She faced Ross and her smile widened. Thank you, she mouthed.
Ross turned to Lord Tinmore. ‘See, sir, nothing precious.’
Tinmore looked affronted. ‘I assure you, the cognac is quite precious!’
Ross had brought it for Dell and rather wished the two of them had made short work of it instead of leaving it with this disagreeable man who did not even have the courtesy to offer to share it with them.
Ross suddenly could not stand to be in this man’s presence another second.
He stood. ‘I desire to prevail upon your butler for the house tour now. I have a great need to stretch my legs.’
Tinmore was still examining his bottle of cognac, turning it around in his hands. He looked up and smirked at Ross. ‘I am certain Dixon would be delighted to start the tour.’ He snapped his hand to his butler. ‘Dixon, show Lord Rossdale the important rooms of the house, the state rooms.’
Dixon bowed. ‘Very good, sir.’
Ross glanced at Dell. ‘Do you come, too, Dell?’ Perhaps Dell needed a break from this disagreeable man, as well.
Dell darted a glance at Lady Tinmore and shook his head. ‘I am content to stay.’
Genna rose from her chair. ‘I will go.’ She faltered and turned to Tinmore. ‘You gave your permission, sir.’
Tinmore waved her away. ‘Go, then.’
‘This way, m’lord,’ Dixon said, leading the way.
When they crossed the threshold, Ross glanced up at the mistletoe, but this would certainly not be an opportune time to take advantage.
